Five years ago, you turned the corner of a milestone worthy of fanfare but the universe had it differently. Thanks but no thanks to covid, instead of partée, we had a pandemic. Back then, I’d dreamed of giving you something that glittered, something you could wear, something I could -almost- afford. (The 'almost’ suggests a struggle of sorts). But with vaccines still in Pharma test tubes, and my business hanging by a burning filament, that sparkly plan got shelved.
Still, we had a little celebration. You slipped into that fine dress, we gathered our “clean bubble” of neighbors and family, those that we are safe with or without hazmats. And you clapped(!) out a candle on a home-made cake so small that portions were more theoretical than actual. In math terms, negligible. Or simply, x=0. I swore then: Next milestone, I’ll make it right -measurable, noticeable and significant.
That was five years ago and today marks another jubilee year for you, another corner to dramatically skid around. I finally got you that thing: its glitter mirrors your knack for making everyone around you feel special. Its color screams your love for life (and your ability to make sweet out of sweat). Its wearability? As enduring as the smile you’ve flashed that even your old, old friends remember you by.
Consider it my pandemic redemption. My "this-is-long-overdue" present. Happy Birthday, Doe-my-dear. You’re the glitter my life needed, and somehow, even with my shiny head, I still can’t outshine you. Je t'aime de tout mon cœur.
Oh yes, wear that red lipstick proud! It matches your personality, like Chicken Joy and Spaghetti. Cheers!
